"If you're lucky to have the finest of genes, then you're perfect."
Paragon is known to be the haven of perfection. A society built on walls, dividing different cities for people with different genetic levels.
Perfect citizens will be automatically...
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"For a man who's brave enough to steal from a renowned asshole, I'd say you're fucking weak."
Harvey chuckles, pulling out his favorite flask of whiskey from his vest and plunging it straight into his mouth. He finally takes his heavy foot off of my pinned body and walks away to maintain a fair gap between us.
"Stand up!" he orders. "Let's try it one more time."
I can almost hear my bones creaking as I stand erect. We've been doing this for an hour already and, man, this guy doesn't know what exhaustion is. It's supposed to be combat training but all I get are bruises on my face every time I get smashed on the cold, hard ground. I can't even succeed on delivering a counterattack. He's too good at this.
Combat isn't really my thing. It's not that difficult to learn though. What's difficult is maintaining my ability to think of an appropriate move head on. Watching movies back in the Nursery makes it feel really easy.
My lack of body coordination stems to the fact that quick reflexes and critical thinking couldn't be easily applied in a battle. People still have to make it work. Maybe I gotta train under intense pressure to squeeze the inner fighter in me. And that is certainly a long way ahead.
"Okay, remember everything I said about close range fighting techniques. Grab, pivot, and smack," he says while holding the flask in one hand and clenching the other. "It will come in handy."
I have no chance of winning if I play by his rules. I need to set my own battleground and let him step on it.
I need to think...
"C'mon, kid! You're a spectre now. A spectre must use everything to outsmart an enemy." Harvey, without any cue, starts charging to my direction. Despite the upcoming attack, I didn't move an inch. Even after he closes our distance.
Think, think, think, I keep telling myself.
He's strong and sharp like I expected. He also has a quick reaction time. A formidable soldier, that's what I see. But too much experience is going to throw him off from his imaginary throne. He's too full of himself.
That is my advantage.
He quickens his movement. Running faster and faster, then he stops. Plastered with a treacherous smile, he swings his arm with an immense force. The blow almost got me if I haven't ducked in a split-second before it could even touch my skin. The delayed thinking threatens my balance as I wobble harshly to keep my stance. Despite the awkward position, I teeter myself up.
"You shouldn't be idle in the middle of a fight!" and like a lightning bolt, he swivels his body and attempts to toss another punch. This time, I saw it coming. Seeing myself get repeatedly beaten up has made his movements predictable.
His fist grows larger in front of my eyes. And as if in slow motion, I twist my body and dodge. His punch hits the air again.
